A NCIS Christmas Carol
by Questioning.Silence
Summary: Title pretty self-explanatory. Gibbs is visited by Christmas past, present, and future. Definitely JIBBS and a little TIVA. Somewhat AU.
1. Chapter 1

_The best part about Halloween? When it's over, you can start getting ready for Christmas!!! At least in my opinion. This takes place sometime after La Grenouille, but obviously before Jenny dies in L.A. Hollis was here but is long gone. For the purposes of this story, Jenny isn't sick/dying either. This is going to be an adaptation of A Christmas Carol but with NCIS characters of course. The story and the characters are the properties of Charles Dickens and Don Bellusarius, respectively. I'm only borrowing them._

A thick curtain of drifting snowflakes filled the streets of Washington D.C. It lay heavily along the sidewalk and roofs, and coated the branches of the pine trees lined up in parking lots and waiting to be sold. One by one, golden streets lamps turned on, illuminating the huge, slow-falling flakes. Early in the afternoon, five days before Christmas Eve, the city's inhabitants were settling into the joy and peace of the holiday season. At least, most were.

"What do you think you're doing?! There's a bomb in there!" Gibbs snapped angrily at his boss, "Get them out of there!"

Jenny Shepard ignored him, conscious of her own boss, the Secretary of the Navy, standing right beside her and scrutinizing every single move that she made. The dim light of MTAC made it easier for her to pretend that he wasn't there. "Sergeant Ellis," she crisply instructed the disheveled man on the feed in front of her, "I understand your concerns, but it is imperative that we get that software out of that house."

He stared at her for a long moment, exhaustion showing itself in his every movement. He nodded his head slowly. "Yes, Madam Director. Just... if I don't make it... tell my wife I love her, please."

She nodded once in return, and squaring his shoulders, the sergeant turned to obey her orders, rallying his men and entering the gaping hole that was once the wall to a house.

Gibbs waited until the sergeant was out of earshot before he continued, "Are you that uncaring?" he hissed in a voice that grew in volume with each word, "That computer isn't worth a life!" He knew that he was disrespecting her in front of her own boss, but he couldn't see anything through his own fury. This was too much like the sinking of the _Chimera_. Didn't she understand what she was doing?

Jenny turned to glare at him. Worry and strain stretched over her face. Didn't he understand how important this software was? Not only was it expensive, but it was the prototype and sole copy of a defense programming design that had taken years to perfect. It couldn't be risked. But now, here he was, insulting her intelligence and morals in front of the Secretary of the Navy. "Special Agent Gibbs, if you cannot keep your mouth shut, thus jeopardizing this mission by publicly undermining my authority, I suggest you leave this room immediately!" she felt a twist of regret as soon as the words were out, but refused to soften the blow at all. Didn't he know that she cared about these men's lives too?

"You are going to get them killed!" he wouldn't, couldn't, stop speaking.

"ENOUGH, Special Agent!" the Secretary cut in, "And Director Shepard, control your subordinates," he said with obvious irritation and suppressed anger.

She turned back to focus on the mission. The minutes crept by, staring at the dark hole in the side of the building, desert sand swirling across the camera and at times obstructing their view. Everyone in MTAC held their breath as the estimation clock for the time bomb ticked down to zero. When nothing happened, Jenny crossed her arms tightly across her chest, waiting, hoping, praying for the soldiers to make it out.

A flash of movement, then several running figures. A low murmur filled the room as Sergeant Ellis and his men raced from the building. The sergeant brought up the rear, clutching a large black case tightly to his chest. Suddenly, to the horror of all those watching, the house exploded in a blast of debris and fire. A fraction of a second later, the sound caught up with the picture as a huge sound blasted through MTAC's speakers. Flung forward by the supersonic explosion, Sergeant Ellis tumbled forward, hitting the ground headfirst. Metal, glass, and dirt rained down from the sky, peppering his unmoving body. The case was flung to the side.

A moment later, the camera fell to the side as the operator ran to aid his fallen friend. The screen cracked upon contact with a fist-sized rock embedded in the ground and cut to a blank feed. No one in MTAC moved. Then Gibbs abruptly stood up and stormed out the door.

Jenny felt her stomach twist but kept her face calm. "Agent Nikky, try to establish contact with the nearest base. Send for back-up. Agent Stanzi, inform the medical/trauma center and tell them to ready a chopper. Agent Grisholm, I want to know where that missing bomb squad is right now!"

As the techs scrambled to do her bidding, she stared at the colorful screen. Clenching her fist so tightly that her nails dug into her palm, she waited for something, anything, to happen. She jumped as her boss spoke.

"Well done, Director," he said quietly, "I'm sure that the case prevented the software from coming to harm. You did what had to be done. Keep an eye on that sergeant and his team and tell me how they are. However," his voice grew stern, "I expect you to deal with Agent Gibbs. That was inappropriate, and it makes all of us look bad. You know as well as I do that we barely have enough funding to function properly as it is. Too many stories like this, and we are the unruly little child that Congress doesn't want to back."

"Yes sir," she returned. He made his excuses about a conference and quickly left the room.

* * *

Several hours later, Jenny herself exited MTAC. As she walked over to her office, her gaze flashed over to the bull pen below. His entire team was no longer there. Good, she decided, because she had no idea what to do about him. At least the sergeant was alive. With a some head trauma that was the full extent of his team's injuries, he was already en route to Bethesda. The doctor on the base had already given him a fair prognosis, and for that she was glad. The software was safely back where it belonged, and now she only had this problem remaining.

"Can I help you with anything, Director?" the sympathetic look in Cynthia's eyes told Jenny that the girl had already guessed the source of her preoccupation.

"Cynthia," she addressed her assistant, "I'm sorry to do this to you, but would you please tell Special Agent Gibbs that I need to speak with him immediately?"

Cynthia nodded, suspicions confirmed. She actually found herself pitying both the agent and director at moments like these.

As Jenny entered her office, Cynthia took a deep breath and called Gibbs' cell. She didn't bother to look up the number; she had called it so many times before.

"Agent Gibbs? This is Cynthia. The director needs to-" she stopped talking as she heard the dial tone. She sighed and dropped the phone back on its base, putting her face in her hands and propping her elbows up on her desk. If Gibbs was a pain to the director, he was a thorn in Cynthia's side. He never made things easy on her, not even once. It was if he thought that rules were beneath him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was interrupted by a storm of fury. Gibbs strode into the room, and without bothering to acknowledge Cynthia's existence, barged through the director's door. Cynthia winced as the shouting match began. Gibbs' team inched up the stairs to eavesdrop. None of them had been in MTAC, but they'd bourne the brunt of Gibbs' fury for the better part of a day. She rolled her eyes but didn't bother to shoo them away. If Gibbs and Jenny wanted to yell so loudly that everyone in the building knew their business, that was their problem. But really, it was Christmas. You would think they could behave.

Unintelligible bursts of conversation carried through the office door. Only thirty seconds later, the door slammed back open and Gibbs stalked away.

* * *

A figure watched from the corner of the room. She had been there the entire time, from the MTAC fiasco through Cynthia's exasperation, although no one had seen her. She shook her head; this might be harder than she had thought.

* * *

_Well, thanks for reading. :) I know this is a slow beginning, but I'm trying to get this story set with the time table of A Christmas Carol. Next chapter: Gibbs gets a special guest that he has missed for over a decade. _


	2. Chapter 2

_To everyone that reviewed, thank you so very much. I still don't own anything to do with NCIS. And yes, Pandora of Ithilien was correct. _

Jennifer Shepard sat quietly in the hard plastic chair that was positioned beside the small hospital bed. Four pristine, white walls surrounded her and the sergeant who lay on the bed. There was no sound or motion in the room except for the tiny beeping of the heart monitor and the slow rise and fall of the unconscious man's chest as air rattled faintly through the breathing tube. The nurses had convinced his hysteric wife to go home for a few, brief hours of sleep only after Jenny had promised that she wouldn't leave the sergeant's side.

She would have welcomed the break to sit and relax there herself but was reluctantly filling out the never-ending stream of paperwork that came into her possession. After another few minutes, though, she set down her pen. She took a deep breath, rubbing her eyes with her fingers, and slumped back to find whatever comfort that the rigid plastic chair provided. Even as the door clicked softly open behind her, she did not bother to move.

Light footsteps crossed the floor and stopped beside the bed. She stiffened as she realized that it was him. Anyone else would have said something by now. And to be honest, she'd been expecting him for hours. His angry slamming of her office door the previous day had foretold a protracted, furious argument that would last for days, if not weeks. Not that she needed her door to tell her that, though. She swallowed once and lifted her head.

Gibbs stood there, turned away from her and watching the figure on the bed. As she stared at him, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. The blue eyes were tinged with accusation. She had to say something, anything.

"You're overdoing this, Jethro," she said softly.

"_Overdoing this?_" he demanded, "Jen, you sacrificed a man for a fancy computer!"

"It was a programming system, one that we need very badly. Our people, spread out over the entire world, are dying because we can't get air support into battle zones! It was our only copy. We need this," she stopped when she realized that she was repeating herself.

"They could have made another," he spat, "but that's not the point. The problem is that _you_ don't care about your people anymore. You've changed. You don't care how many people die, what happens to them, or who you have to use to help your precious agency's standing!"

Never one to back down from a confrontation, she stood up so quickly that the chair nearly tipped over backwards. "That's not true!" fire snapped in her eyes and voice, "You know me better than that!"

He cut her off, his face livid, "DiNozzo? La Grenouille?" he asked sarcastically, "And I'm even starting to wonder if you care about NCIS. Maybe you just like the prestige that comes with being the director!"

He paused to take a breath. Her expression was stricken, her eyes hard and furious.

He stepped back several steps and turned to slip out the door. "Long live the queen," he whispered, meeting her gaze one last time before the door slipped closed.

She twisted her head back to face forward. With slow and careful precision, she picked up her pen and began to sign off again on the pile of paperwork in front of her. Holding herself perfectly still, she read silently as hot tears crept in to blur her vision. She flicked her hand across her eyes and rubbed them dry. She was not going to cry. Why did it matter what he thought? She shrieked silently to herself. He wasn't right! He wasn't, she knew her own mind, and he was wrong, wrong, wrong... He was wrong, wasn't he?

* * *

Gibbs' car squealed to a stop in front of his house. He yanked the keys from the ignition, slamming the car door shut as he got out and stalked up to his front door, his footsteps silent in the unbroken snow that covered the ground. Slamming the front door as well, he tossed his keys onto his counter and began to pace around the kitchen. His thoughts buzzed around his head, anger and confusion competing with fury and the urge to hit something. Sometime after his sixty-seventh track around the kitchen, he became aware of someones eyes on him.

His hand went instantly to the SIG on his hip. He carefully surveyed the entire room before pulling his weapon from its holster and checking the whole house from top to bottom. No one was there. He shook himself; this was almost Christmas, not Halloween. He should never have allowed Hollis to drag him to that horror movie several months before. Not that he was scared by the movie, or anything so foolish, but it put him on edge to remember how easily the lunatic serial killer had entered the house and waited for its inhabitants to go to sleep.

Gibbs returned to the kitchen. He rarely let his emotions control him, but he was not ready to make himself calm yet. If he worked on the boat, in his present anger, he would likely destroy it. He felt the eerie sensation of someones eyes on him again. This time he did not hesitate, but immediately grasped his SIG and put his back to the refrigerator. Again, there was no one there, but he was not ready to discount his gut a second time. He waited and was rewarded but a tiny flicker of movement in front of the oven. A flash of red, a glimpse of a figure... And then, the stunning recognition. _Shannon._

Two full minutes later, he hadn't moved or lowered his weapon. He could not trust his eyes, because she was there, standing before him and smiling indulgently, as if he were a naughty child. His heart ached. After longing for this moment for so long, he did not believe what he saw.

"Jethro," she murmured in her musical voice, "why are you pointing a gun at me?"

He stared at the weapon in his eyes as though he was surprised to see it there. Lowering the SIG, he still did not release the tight grip that he held on it.

"Shannon?" he asked hoarsely.

She smiled more brightly at him as she stepped closer, motioning for him to put his weapon away. He obeyed as though in a trance. Her vibrant red hair was tucked back behind her ear, and her eyes sparkled as they met his.

"You look tired," she whispered. He put out his hand to touch her face but felt nothing. He could see his hand touching her cheek, but his fingers brushed only air. "I'm not here," she said gently.

"What?" was all that his tired and stunned brain could come up with.

Shannon laughed, "Always so articulate. I'm sorry, Jethro" she sobered slightly, "but I'm really not here. I'm dead."

"So this is my imagination?" he asked, still in a shell-shocked tone.

"Of course not. Well, not exactly. Kind of."

Now he was really confused.

"I _am_ here, as in I'm talking to you and this isn't your imagination. Think of me as... here to help. I wish that I could stay here longer with you and explain more, but I really only have time to warn you. Some... spirits, for want of a better word, are going to come to you. You need to listen to them. Yes, they are _real, _because you aren't making them up, but they aren't exactly people either. Listen to them, Jethro, please. If not for yourself, then for everyone else."

She took a step backward but he went with her. "Don't go, please don't leave," he begged.

Shannon leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He could not feel it, but his eyes misted all the same. "Please!"

"I have to go back. You should stop beating yourself up about our deaths, while I have the time to say this. It was our time to leave; there was nothing you could have done. And it's beautiful up there, just beautiful. Kelly says hi. We love you." Shannon faded into nothing even as she finished speaking. Her departing words seemed to hang on the stillness of the air, the kitchen lifeless in her absence.

* * *

The redhead watched him for a moment more, invisibly. She inhaled deeply, and then let the air out as a sigh. He had made such a mess that she wasn't sure how it could possibly be fixed. But this was Jethro. He was honorable. Mostly. She still wasn't thrilled about all the flings and ex-wives and girlfriends that had followed her death. It had been almost two decades now, and it was time for him to grow up. But fixing all the mistakes, some his and some belonging to others, wouldn't be easy. But she knew that he could do it, if he only listened carefully to the ones that would follow her. She brushed her fingers along his unseeing face and then slipped through the window and into the pale sunlight that glinted off the snow.


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay, I'm not certain that I'm getting all the details in history or setting correct. I'd like to just call it "creative liberty" and leave it at that, but if someone notices something that really bothers them, it would be nice if they could just drop a line in a review rather than stewing angrily about my ignorance. I'm willing to learn any new information that would make this better. _

_Also, I'm losing Internet access for the next several days. It may be a week or two before I get the next chapter, so please don't give up on me. _

* * *

Gibbs slowly slid down against the refrigerator until he was sitting on the floor. He did not believe what had just happened. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and tried to think but didn't know where to start. He became aware of the tears that streaked down his chin. His head throbbed. All things considered, he needed bourbon, badly.

As he slowly stood up, he glanced at the window and froze. There, in the condensation that beaded the glass, a small heart was inscribed. A shiny drop of water that had trickled down proved immediately that it had recently been drawn. And he knew for certain that he wasn't the artist. He just stood there, staring at it as his head pounded all the more.

Tearing himself away from her memory, he stumped down the stairs into his basement. Lifting the half-full bottle of alcohol from the shelf, he unscrewed the lid and angled it over a dusty mug. But he didn't pour. Suspended in midair, the liquid stayed in the bottle until he set it back down on the workbench. He didn't want to ruin or dim his memory of that past ten minutes. He deliberately put the lid back on the bourbon and carefully placed it back on the shelf. He could drink later.

Gibbs picked up a chisel and began to shape the supports of his boat. Minutes turned into hours as he worked through the night. After he had finished smoothing down the main beams, he paused to check the time. 12:00. Not a superstitious man in the least, he continued his work, stopped only a few moments later by a low chuckle.

Whipping his head around from an irrational hope that it might be _her_ again, he spotted the figure from whom the noise had come. And then he dropped his sander because all of this was _just too much._

Special Agent Caitlin Todd was sitting on the bottom step, shaking her head. "Only Gibbs," she laughed, "would meet an apparition and then go into his basement to sand his boat." She certainly didn't look dead. Her skin was light and clear, without so much as a mark in the center of her forehead. She wore dark jeans and a light sweatshirt despite the cold outside. "And never at a loss for words, either," she continued sarcastically, smirking at his bemused expression.

He shook his head like a dog trying to shake water from its coat. So Shannon had been real and telling the truth. Either that or he was still hallucinating. But he actually wasn't as surprised this second time around. Kate he could handle, but Shannon's arrival, not so much. He tried to appear calm by asking the first question that came to his mind.

"How've you been?"

She began to laugh again, a silvery laugh that no human alive could duplicate, "Well, I'm not Kate, so I don't know. But I'm not not Kate, either. Shannon was right; it's too difficult to explain to a living person. Just take my word for it. But enough, we've got to go." She got up off the steps and walked over to him, offering her hand.

"We... what?" asked Gibbs.

"Haven't you ever heard of A Christmas Carol?"

He shook his head.

"Oh, come on Gibbs! You didn't even have to read the book. There's a bunch of movies made from it. Charles Dickens? Scrooge? Tiny Tim?"

He cocked his head to indicate understanding.

"That's better. But you didn't think that Dickens made up that story all on his own, did you? Definitely not. He heard it from a friend who heard that it happened to a friend's friend. Or something like that. He didn't get all the details right in the book. He confused us messengers with some kind of magic spirits of Christmas. But he was close enough, I guess. Goodness, I sound like Ducky, don't I? Well, let's go."

She held out her hand and he took it this time. There was a flash of light and they twisted into thin air.

* * *

The next thing that Gibbs was aware of was an unbalanced sensation. He released Kate's hand in barely enough time to prevent himself from falling face-first onto the frozen mud. She smiled in sympathy.

"It takes a while to get used to travelling like this."

Pushing himself back up into a standing position, he began to brush the gritty bits of freezing dirt from his hands. Wait... mud? Something was wrong. He was staring at his house right in front of them. This should be snow atop of grass. There was no mud, in fact there hadn't been mud in his front yard since the 1980s, when he had first laid down grass seed. His breath caught in his throat, and he whipped his head around to stare at Kate in horror.

"Gibbs... I'm so sorry, but we have to," she whispered, all traces of amusement vanished from her face.

Multi-colored Christmas lights lined the edge of the roof. A huge evergreen wreath was centered on the door. He wasn't sure that he could handle this. He thought back to the scarce few times that he had seen that movie, A Christmas Carol, that Kate mentioned. There was something about time-travel, he knew, but this was torture.

_A car barreled up the driveway just then. A younger, happier-looking Gibbs nearly tore the drivers-side door off of its hinges in his efforts to hurriedly pile the presents from the passenger seat into his arms. And then the front door was flung open._

_"Daddy!" shrieked a tiny girl with wavy, brownish-red hair. "You're home!" She raced down to meet him in her pajamas and bare feet, jumping into his arms and knocking the presents to the ground. A hassled but happy Shannon appeared in the doorway._

_"Kelly! Put some shoes on next time!" she said sternly, although her tolerant expression gave her away. Golden light streaming from inside the house glinted off her hair and shone in pools of light on the snow._

_The little family hurried inside, with Gibbs holding Kelly in one arm and several brightly-wrapped presents in the other._

_The living room was brightly decorated in cut-out paper snowflakes and random Christmas baubles. An immense tree stood in one corner, and three felt stockings were draped over the sofa._

_"Kelly decorated," Shannon cued, "Isn't is lovely?"_

_Kelly looked at him expectantly and he began to tickle her, her little laugh echoing through the room._

Kate and Gibbs leaned against the wall, with him trying to prevent tears from welling up in his eyes. Although unsure when he had actually entered the building, he knew that he would rather be anywhere but here.

_"Momma said," began Kelly as she and Gibbs began to warm their hands over the crackling fireplace, "That because Santa was magic, he could come in through the chimney even if there's a fire in it. I was afraid he would burn himself, but Momma said that he wouldn't."_

_"And your Momma is always right," he poked Kelly on the nose lightly and then turned to smile at his wife. She returned his smile with a look that was so full of love that it seemed to light up her whole being._

The present-day Gibbs stiffened.

"Let's go," he said flatly to Kate.

She drug her eyes away from the sight of Kelly begging her father to open the presents early and turned to face her ex-boss, "What?"

"I said let's go!"

She studied him for a moment, "I'm beginning to understand why we were sent to you," she said finally, "Can't you understand that love doesn't end?"

"Of course," he choked out angrily, "otherwise I could watch this!"

She went on as if he hadn't spoken, "But you will, soon enough."

Kate reached out and took his hand and again they went spiraling away.

* * *

Once again, Gibbs fell over as the spinning stopped. This time things didn't go nearly as well, and he smacked his face into a desk. Clutching his nose, he glared at Kate.

"Watch how you steer that thing," he muttered, only now aware of where they had landed. "I want to go home!"

Kate rolled her eyes, waltzing across the room and popping herself down in her old desk, "Not an option, boss. Now stop complaining or I'll head slap you." She cocked an eyebrow saucily. "Oh, there's Morrow. Let's go," she quickly followed the director, giving no choice to Gibbs but to tag along. He certainly didn't want to get lost in the past. They walked down several long hallways, finally stopping in a back room.

_Gibbs was leaning over a pile of papers, the room lit only by a dim lamp._

_"Agent Gibbs," Director Morrow spoke up, "you're shipping out to Malta tomorrow. You should get some rest. I appreciate you offering to finish this report. But it's almost Christmas, so go and enjoy the brief few hours of the holidays that you have."_

_"I'm fine," Gibbs said flatly, flipping a paper over and scribbling something on the back. Knowing better than to argue with this agent, the director left._

"This is what you did, isn't it?" said Kate, "For quite a few Christmases after they died," she looked at him knowingly and a smirked played around her lips, warning him of what was to come.

She clapped her hands twice, loudly, and the room flickered in front of them. The same basic scene was still there when the room became visible again, but with slight differences. The lighting system was different, and the desk was newer. Gibbs recognized the renovations that NCIS had received in the mid-90s.

"But one day," continued Kate, "All of that changed…"

_A young woman raced into the room. The heels on her shoes were several inches high, though her heels did not wobble as she quickly crossed the carpet. She wore dark jeans, and her deep red hair hung down past her shoulders._

_"Come on," she stopped beside his desk and tried to pull the pen from his hand, "Every single other person in this agency is out at that party. I am the only probationary agent without her boss. Do you think I'm just going to let you sit in here growing old and moldy?" her green eyes twinkled as she made another grab at the pen._

_"Knock it off, Shepard," he growled._

_Unperturbed in the least by his grumpy performance, she sat on the edge of his desk swinging her legs back and forth. "Can't you at least pretend to be a happy person?" she smirked tauntingly, "We might actually get some interesting assignments if you were just a little more politically correct."_

_"Politicians," he muttered in annoyance._

_"Yeah, I know your opinions all too well. They're not exactly my favorite people either, but I'm really sick of getting the weekend and holiday assignments."_

Kate looked at Gibbs as he jabbed a finger angrily at the younger Jenny Shepard who could neither see nor hear him. "See?" he snapped, "You did change. You eventually became someone else, permanently."

"Oh, but did she?" asked Kate in amusement, "Interesting that you should say that. Keep watching."

_"Gibbs?" asked Jenny softly, "You wanna know something?"_

_Warned by the change in her tone, his head whipped up. Her face was only inches from his, and her eyes glinted mischievously._

_"We are leaving," she stopped reaching for the pen and settled for snatching the papers right out from under his nose as she jumped backwards off the desk._

_"Not funny, Shepard. Give those back! I'm your boss."_

_"You only remind me of that about fifty times a day. Now come on! I'm going to save you from yourself," she clutched the papers tightly as though he might spring and take them back._

_"Shepard," he warned._

_She eyed him carefully for several seconds. "Fine," she relented, sulking. He couldn't tell if she was faking it or not. "But please, promise you'll come out sometime?" she practically begged._

_"We'll see," he stuck out his hand for the papers and she reluctantly returned them. Then she flashed a smirk again and dashed out the door. Only too late did Gibbs realize that she had taken his pen with her. Cheeky little thing._

_He reached into the drawer of the desk for another writing tool, but paused with his hand still inside. He looked at the unfinished report laying by his cold cup of coffee and then back out the door where she had disappeared. Without quite knowing why, he shut the drawer and stepped down the hall._

_He would never forget the delighted smile that had lit up her face as he suddenly appeared and held out his hand for the pen. To the collective shock of everyone else in the room, he had proceeded to remain at the bustling party for the rest of the evening._

Kate and Gibbs stood at the outskirts of the festivities, watching silently. Kate was tapping her foot in time to the beat, nodding and smiling, while Gibbs stared stonily at the redhead flitting happily around the room. He noticed how many times her gaze flashed to the figure of her boss, quietly standing beside several of the other senior agents in the room.

Gibbs' face grew even more set as he remembered entering Morrow's office the next day and asking for Jenny and himself to be removed from the assignment list for weekend and holiday duty and added to the application for partnered missions. He had created an excuse, explaining that she was a remarkably fast learning that would do well at an overseas assignment. Morrow hadn't said much. Today, tracking the happy figures that filled the room, he wondered how much Morrow had guessed of what was to come.

"We have one more stop," Kate whispered into his ear, jolting him out of his thoughts for only a moment before she grasped his hand and drew him away.

* * *

Even as the world stopped spinning around him, the darkness did not lift from Gibbs' eyes. He pushed out with his hands as he tried to orient himself, swearing sharply as his knuckles encountered a rough brick wall.

"You know, if you would just stand still you wouldn't keep hurting yourself," Kate commented.

"Do you mind?" muttered Gibbs under his breath, although he wasn't nearly as irritated as he made himself out to be. The darkness was slowly lightening around him as his eyes adjusted to the pitch-black night. They seemed to be in some type of dark alley. He decided that he might as well get his shock out of the way to begin with. "Where are we?"

"Um... I'm not sure," Kate admitted, "I've never been here before. It's not like there is a training course on this type of travel!" she added defensively as Gibbs' glare cut through the dim light. "I think we go this way."

She turned to the left, but before she had taken more than a few steps, a couple walked right through her going in the opposite direction. Gibbs heard Kate's muted cry of satisfaction before he discovered the identity of the couple strolling towards him.

_Jenny shivered in the sudden chill, moving herself in closer to the warmth of Gibbs' side._

_"Are you alright?" he asked in concern, wrapping his arm more tightly around her._

_"Of course," she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder, "You're here with me."_

_They moved slowly down the street, enjoying the rather balmy night for late December in France. The alley soon ended, giving rise to a busy boulevard that was bright with streetlamps and car lights. The Eiffel Tower rose tall and proud in the distance._

_"Here," Gibbs flagged down a cab and pulled open the door for Jenny, "I have a surprise for you."_

Gibbs made a motion to follow them into the cab, but Kate pulled him back with a shake of her head, "Never mind, I got confused with directions. I know where to go; we'll meet them there."

And with the swirling, bizarre sensation that Gibbs was beginning to get used to, they were gone.

* * *

_Jenny and Gibbs stared out from an observation deck several stories above the ground. The city below was spread out precisely, perfectly, with deep shadows blurring into bright stars of light that were house and street lamps. The tower's structure sheltered them from the slight wind. Jenny again moved herself as near to Gibbs as she could, still mulling over the wonderful evening that he had planned for her. A dinner at one of the most prestigious and expensive restaurants in the entire city of Paris, followed by a ballet, and then this climb to the topmost deck of the tower. She could not believe that he had planned this all without her knowledge; she was supposed to be a highly-trained, observant federal agent. _

_But for some reason, it only made her love him all the more. Love. She couldn't remember when their relationship had turned into that word. Not that she was complaining. Only one thing could possibly make this night any better. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, kissing him fiercely._

Gibbs watched, struggling to identify the emotion that rose in his chest. A moment later, his internal struggle was interrupted. The couple was showing no signs of stopping, and Gibbs knew from experience that it wouldn't end for several more minutes. Kate was watching with interest, fascination and amusement, even. Should she be watching this? Gibbs wondered. No, he decided almost instantly. Kate should definitely not be watching this. He wouldn't put it past her to somehow come back from the dead just to give DiNozzo this bit of blackmail information.

But Gibbs still didn't move; he just stared at the younger version of himself. With a fair amount of cynicism, he realized that he was jealous of his former self. Then he silently identified the emotion from earlier. It was regret. He tapped Kate sharply on the shoulder. She jumped, completely distracted, and scowled at him for interrupting her. About to ask him what he wanted, she saw the expression on his face. Kate sighed, reached out her hand, and pulled him back to the present.


	4. Chapter 4

Gibbs flew through time and space, landing heavily on the concrete floor of his basement. Taking a moment to regain his balance, he blinked several times and then peered at his watch to check the time. 12:00. Again. What the...? He turned to Kate. But she wasn't there. He glanced throughout his entire basement, even taking the time to holler up the stairs.

But she was definitely gone. It hit him suddenly; she had left his life a second time without a word. Gibbs swallowed, feeling again the dull feeling of regret that he always tried to ignore. He had been so caught up in his own personal struggle that he hadn't said anything to her that he had wanted to, nothing about how they missed her still, how she had been a wonderful agent, or any of the questions that still haunted him about her death.

"Regretting the past won't get you very far," spoke a low, accented voice to his left.

Ziva David stood only a few feet away from Gibbs, slouching against the frame of the boat.

"Ziva!" Gibbs' mouth had gone dry.

"Oh, I cannot read minds, as you would say," she explained, "but I know that that look on your face very well. All too often it shows on mine."

Gibbs did not appear relieved in the least, "Are you dead?" he asked stiffly.

"What?" she was amused by his rather unorthodox question, "Uh, no." She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Why would... Oh! You think that because Kate and Shannon are dead, that I am as well. No, this is the present, and so it is very appropriate to send one from the present, no? Although, specifically speaking, I am not Ziva, either."

Gibbs resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Must all of his agents, past and present, babble on constantly? "I know," he muttered, slouching over to the workbench and pouring himself a glass of bourbon. All things considered, he decided that he deserved it.

Ziva eyed him carefully. "Don't drink too much," she warned, "I don't want to have all of my time here wasted with you falling comatose and blacking out everything I'm about to tell you."

Gibbs glared, "More talking?"

"Oh, yes," she smirked wickedly, "but you deserve a lot more than just talk. I didn't want to have to do this, though. In fact, we all drew straws, Kate, myself, and the others, to see who would have to give you the dressing up-"

"Dressing down," he corrected absently as he picked up his sander and began to work on the boat again.

She glared at his back as she talked right over his interruption, "and I unfortunately drew the short straw. So basically, I was told to tell you this: you-"

"Told by who?"

"It's 'whom', Gibbs, 'told by whom'. I shouldn't be correcting _your _grammer. And for someone who wants me to stop talking, you are asking a lot of questions."

"Told by who?" he repeated.

Ziva raised an eyebrow, "None of your business. No one that you know. Now listen!" she smacked the sander out of his hands and stared him down, "This is why we have been sent. You are a great agent. You don't handle some situations the best way, but no one is perfect. No, why we're here is because you messed up badly a long time ago. That action set off a chain reaction that won't become clear for a long time. But if you don't fix this, it will end badly for a lot of people. It won't destroy the world, but it will ruin the lives of many of the people that you care most about."

He looked at her skeptically.

"'Take nothing for granted; always double check' is a good rule, Gibbs, but one of these days you are going to have to trust someone. But enough, I'm not here to lecture, I'm here to show you what you refuse to see."

She grabbed his hand, although again he could not feel it, and they vanished.

* * *

Gibbs landed face-first on the floor. Spitting out carpet fibers, he climbed to his feet and tried to ignore Ziva's snickering. He suspected that she had travelled more roughly just to provide cheap entertainment for herself. He remembered ruefully how much more subtle and gentle Kate was.

"See, that's the thing," Ziva said, "You never realize what you have until it is gone."

He shot her a suspicious glare, but she deflected it with a bland smile.

"I really can't read your mind," she promised.

Somehow he doubted that, but he let the matter slide as he looked around. This was Abby's house, he knew, and judging from the amount of decorations and spare coats draped around the entry way, she was probably throwing her annual Christmas party. Ziva and he followed smothered sounds of laughter down the hall and into the living room. To Gibbs' surprise, he located his entire team sitting on the floor and couch. Ducky and Palmet sat on the oversized sofa, with Abby perched on an armrest. McGee sat in the other chair, and Ziva and Tony sat side by side on the floor. The Ziva next to Gibbs gave a sarcastic little wave to the Ziva on the floor.

"If this is the present, then how are you there and here?" Gibbs demanded.

"I said that this was the present, as in Christmas time in the present. Not the precise, strict, exact, perfect, literal moment in time just so that Gibbs can argue semantics with an invisible spirit. I never thought I'd say this to you, but stop talking!" Ziva hissed.

_The movie Miracle on 34th Street was coming to an end on Abby's television screen. The remains of dinner lay forgotten on the large oaken table in the back room. Pieces of crushed popcorn littered the carpet, tokens from the epic food fight that had taken place earlier. As the credits began to roll, Abby stood up and yawned hugely. She crossed the room and turned off the TV, flipping on the nearby lamp as well._

_No one else in the room moved. Content, sleepy, warm, and well-fed, they remained in place until the silence was interrupted by a loud snore. Palmer had fallen asleep on the sofa, with his head propped up against the ledge where the back of the furniture met the wall._

_"When's Gibbs coming?" asked Tony a moment later._

_"He's not," said Abby._

_Something in her tone alerted Ziva, who sat up straight and looked at the girl directly. "What's wrong, Abby?"_

_"I didn't even invite him," she whispered in a flat, unAbby-like voice. Everyone, with the sole exception of Palmer, stared at her. She sat cross-legged on the floor and began to pick at the carpet, choking out her further explanation. "He wouldn't care and he wouldn't come. He's been so angry lately. First it was at the Director, but then he snapped at me a bunch of times the next day. And yesterday, I told myself that when he came down to say goodbye for the holiday break, I would invite him. I waited and waited and waited in my lab, but he never showed up," she was fighting back tears by the time that she had finished._

_McGee, who was closest, reached down and hugged her tightly. Ducky also hastened to comfort her. He took Abby's hand in his._

_"Abigail, you know that he cares for you. I'm certain that he has just been having a stressful last week, and I bet that-"_

_"No," Abby cut him off, "he's been like this more and more often for the past eight months or more. It's like he's changing permanantly."_

_"No one ever stays the same, Abby," Ducky replied gently._

_"I'm only crying because I'm exhausted. And of course I know nothing's the same. Entropy is a natural force that pulls everything apart at a subatomic level; everything changes eventually," talking about scientific theories seemed to pull Abby back into safer waters, "I'm talking about a bad change."_

_No one answered. No one really had to. They all knew what she was saying because they had all experienced Gibbs at one time or another recently. His head-slapping was getting harder, with less of an amusing intent and more of a painful one. He wasn't cutting anyone a break, no matter how hard that they were trying. His fights with Jenny had been getting worse, ever since she had told him off for embarassing her in front of the Secretary of the Navy two and a half days ago. He was there when they appeared in the morning, and ignored them as they said their good byes at the end of the day. They began to suspect that he was only going home for a change of clothes and a coffee fix. But what could they do?_

_In the long silence that had followed, several other members of the team had fallen asleep. Tony's head lolled back against the sofa, while Abby's face was smushed into McGee's shoulder as she snorred lightly. McGee himself was barely able to keep his eyes open. Ducky smiled at Ziva and shrugged his shoulders. Ziva stared at Tony's peaceful expression and couldn't resist. She dashed silently into the kitchen and returned with a container of Ready-Whip._

Gibbs stared without interest at the sight of the Mossad officer tormenting his senior agent's face and hair with the can of whipped cream, the end of a shoelace, and several pieces of popcorn that she had plucked from the floor. His team was being ridiculous, going on and on about him "changing", absolutely ridiculous. It was Jenny that was messed up right now, and with her all over him how was he supposed to act "normal"?

He glanced out of the corner of his eye to where Ziva was cheering on the Ziva on the floor. She was now inserting whipped cream into Tony's ears. The Ziva beside him caught his eye.

"Interesting, yes? That you never noticed their feelings?" He didn't respond, and so she plowed on, "Perhaps you could show that you actually care about them a bit? Maybe not take them for granted?"

He still didn't say a word, but only glared more fiercely at her. Sighing, Ziva grabbed Gibbs' hand and pulled him away from the scene.

* * *

Gibbs landed flat on his back in a huge pile of fluffy snow. Getting to his feet, he repressed a shiver as a good deal of it slipped down the back of his sweatshirt and ran freezingly down his skin. He felt a thunk on the back of his head. He whipped around to find the shadowy silhouette of Ziva brushing the water and snow off her hands as she grinned wickedly. The back of his head was caked in the remnants of her snowball.

It was then that he noted the house that stood behind Ziva. An immense, beautiful old house made mostly of brownstone, it was not at all difficult for him to identify his new location even in the dark. He began to suspect that Ziva enjoyed torturing him this way, but to avoid allowing her to see that she had won, he headed resolutely off in the direction of Jenny Shepard's front door.

Ziva watched in amusement as he struggled in vain to open the door. His hand slid right through the handle, though he tried multiple times to grab onto it. Finally he gave up, turning and glaring back at her. She raised an eyebrow before she trudged through the ankle-deep snow to help him. Her steps left no prints in the new-fallen drifts.

She touched the door knob and it glided smoothly open. Gibbs snorted in annoyance as he followed her through the door and up the stairs. The inside of the house was absolutely silent, without even a slight creaking or settling of the house to break up the heavy stillness that seemed to cover the rooms as thickly as the snow did the ground outside. No lights were lit, and the barely visible floor seemed almost forbidding. They reached the top of the stairs, and Gibbs turned to head towards Jenny's bedroom. Ziva tugged on his arm and pointed to the dimly lit study to the left.

_Jenny Shepard sat in her desk, pen in hand, going through a thick stack of paperwork that was stacked half of a foot high next to her lamp. Her short red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and she wore the sweatpants and T-shirt that were her pajamas along with a worn-out, faded sweatshirt that cheered on some minor high school football team. Her darkly-ringed eyes peered out from a pair of slender glasses, but did not move along the page. She stared at the same sentence, trying to read it but unable to work up the concentration or determination to do so._

_She wanted to go to bed so badly, but couldn't, wouldn't. Even in her present state, it would take at least several minutes for her to sleep, and those minutes would be filled with topics that she had been trying to block out for the past two days. Struggling on, she finally lost her patience. She threw her pen angrily at the far wall._

Gibbs flinched as the pen flew straight through his abdomen.

_Kicking her chair backwards and rising to her feet, she went to the cupboard and poured herself a generous portion of bourbon. Jenny slipped out the door and began to pace down the hall._

Gibbs dodged backwards as she ploughed through him, almost losing his balance in the process.

_She stalked towards the window, holding her already half-finished drink in her left hand. She paused at the window, staring blankly out at the thick night sky. Even the sharp lights of a car on the street below could not cut through and illuminate the inky blackness. Wiping the bits of condensation from the edges, she rested her forehead against its cold surface. She felt again the hot tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Angry at her own perceived weakness, she forced them back. Why did she always seem this way, she wondered? Was it for the happiness of her past, so foolishly and willfully abandoned, or the lives she witnessed torn apart each day, the doubts that plagued her, or the fact that she was alone again, as she had been for years? Was it that she felt as though she could no longer tell wrong from right, that the few people whose opinions actually mattered to her seemed to despise and resent her entirely, or that for everything she had worked to gain, she seemed to have lost so much more?_

"It doesn't hurt you at all, to see her this way?" asked Ziva softly, noting his stoic face.

Gibbs took his time to reply, "Whatever we had once, it's long gone," he said harshly and, he hoped, without emotion.

Ziva gave a snort as this, "It sounds as you are trying to convince yourself as much as me. But never mind that."

_Jenny slowly wandered back down the hall. She reentered the study and set her empty glass down on the desk and sat back down in the seat. Opening the top drawer, she stared at the loaded weapon that she kept there. She didn't move for the next several minutes. Then she snapped the drawer shut angrily._

_"Don't be absolutely stupid, Jenny," she muttered, "Oh, wonderful, that's what you're reduced to now, isn't it? Talking to yourself night and day. You're probably crazy by now. Or I am. Whoever we--or I--am talking about now." She gave a sort of hysterical breathy laugh, and only then did she drop her head into her hands and begin to cry._

"How are you not affected by any of this?" demanded Ziva.

"None of this is real," he explained flatly, "just another dream."

"Oh, of course," said Ziva icily, fury and sarcasm emanating from each syllable, "And if it were?"

He shrugged.

"You bitter, self-pitying, selfish man!" she spat, "You arrogant bastard! And no, that isn't something to take pride in, whatever you might think. You are not infallible. You screw up just as much as any of us, but are too proud to admit to it. You created one of your rules around that, so you would never have to admit your mistakes. And then for some strange reason, you consider that strength of character!"

Gibbs glared at her in mounting fury. How dare she? She didn't know any of his motives or reasons or anything of his past beyond what she heard from gossip. He turned to stalk away, but found that he suddenly was incapable of independent movement. He tried to speak, but couldn't open his mouth. Literally, he was forced to stand motionless and listen to Ziva.

_Jenny made herself stop crying a minute later. It wouldn't solve anything. She set about blowing her nose and drying her eyes._

"And do you know what else? You should see Shannon, each and every time that you start off on another silly, half-hearted fling. I think she's ashamed of you! You're disgracing her memory, pretending that somehow you are proving that you love her by giving up on every other relationship."

His head was pounding again from the headache that he'd had earlier. He hadn't been this angry at a single person in a long time.

"But thank goodness," she hissed angrily, "that the great, omnipotent Gibbs won't have to put up with such indignation any longer! By this time next year, his entire team, lab tech, medical examiners, and a certain director will either be dead or gone, leaving him for good." There was a long pause, "But what do I know about that?" Ziva finished softly and slowly, "I'm just the spirit of the present."

She was lying, Gibbs decided, definitely lying.

"Oh, am I?" asked Ziva, still speaking in a voice barely above a whisper, "Remember, Gibbs, everything is a chain reaction. Fix it," she faded even as she finished speaking.

_Jenny stood up and crossed the room deliberately, reaching into the bottom drawer of a filing cabinent. Pulling out a pile of folders and notebooks, she lifted a small, dark brown book from the bottom and opened it gently. Plastic photo covers protected dozens of pictures. There were several pictures of her as a young girl, bright smile and bouncing curls glowing. Her father stood with his arm around her in most of these. There were photos of several NCIS agents, both former and present, foreign cities, monuments, past boyfriends, college parties, even people that she had lost touch with years ago. She flipped slowly through each page. Throughout the entire book, photos of Gibbs were conspicuously absent. _

_She finally reached the last photo, a picture of the Pyramids of Giza rising high above the blowing sands. She tucked her fingers behind that photo and slid another out from underneath it. It was a shot of her and Gibbs in Europe. Taken by another member of their team, it showed a drenched Jenny chasing after Gibbs, determined to throw him into the swimming pool that he had just tossed her into. The photo captured perfectly the smile and light that hovered around their mouths and eyes. Jenny stared at the picture as if it held the answer to a question that she no longer understood. Then her hand seemed to contract of its own accord, and with a flick of her wrist she tossed the crumpled picture into the fireplace. _

_Reaching above the mantle, she pulled out a box of matches and proceded to light the few charred logs and twigs on fire. She watched carelessly as the picture shriveled into a blackened ball and rolled to the back of the fireplace. Then she sat back down in her desk and began again to sign off on paperwork._

Zivastill watched from the corner of the room. She was not at all angry, although she had portrayed absolute fury to Gibbs. She wasn't sure that she had agreed with what she had said--screamed-- at him. Though regretting the harshness of the words, they had been necessary. She had to get through to him in any way possible, if only to make him look around and simply _see_what he had, was, and could have and be. She had done all that she could. It was someone else's turn now.

* * *

_I shamelessly stole a quote from "Bones" to add into Abby's speech. And I do apologize for any grammatical mistakes. The website seems to randomly delete some of my spaces sometimes. Does anyone know why? Also, I'm fairly certain that the rating is correct, even if it gets a little dramatic for me there near the end. I'm really trying to keep everyone in character, but sometimes their personalities are not conducive to fitting into the roles that I want them to play. It's a little difficult to get deep emotion out of Gibbs sometimes. If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading!_


	5. Chapter 5

_This chapter had a mind of its own. Definite Tiva. :) Happy Thanksgiving!_

Gibbs stormed angrily down the stairs and out the front door as soon as he felt the invisible bonds around him loosen. He didn't bother to even try to open the door this time, but ran straight at the solid wooden structure and right through it. He paused for only a brief moment on the front steps. It had begun to lightly snow again, and the bitter night air drove the fine grains into his skin and hair. A second later he ploughed on, charging into the street and staring furiously up at the dark sky above.

Ziva had vanished, which was certainly not a good thing. He was stranded here, unable to be seen or heard, in some random time. The minutes ticked past slowly, but he stubbornly stayed in the center of the street. Unbidden, Ziva's judgemental words rose to the front of his mind, filling him again with cold and building anger.

_"It doesn't hurt you at all, to see her this way?" _the mocking lilt afforded unintentionally by her light accent rang in his ears. What kind of a question was that, anyways? Of course it did hurt him, to see Jenny alone, depressed, bitter, and with doubts, about not only her actions, but about herself as a person. Did he love her? IHe realized that it had never really been a question, through all these years, if he was still in love with her or not. Seeing her that first time in MTAC had reminded him of moments that he had tried to bury for years. Since then, flashes of a different time had passed through his mind all too often. Ironic, wasn't it, that the only two woman that he had never stopped loving were the only two that had ever truly left him?

He sighed faintly, the only outward expression of his emotion, and absentmindedly checked his watch. 12:00. For the third time. He stared at the glowing numbers.

Suddenly the faint streetlamps seemed to dim around him. He blinked several times to be sure that it wasn't his imagination. Then a chill seeped through the air that had nothing to do with the blowing snow around him. On the contrary, the light storm seemed to be stopping. He felt again that sixth sense that meant he was being watched. A figure stepped slowly out of the lessening haze towards him. Robed in a heavy black cloak, the person--for that was what it appeared to be--soon stood directly in front of him. He could see nothing of the figure except for its hands, which he decided were much to dainty to belong to a man.

Though none of the other spirits had made any noise as they walked or left a single track in the snow, this woman seemed the least present of them all. With an ethereal flicker, it was as though he could see through her to the dark street beyond. She didn't move or shift her weight at all, standing like a statue and oblivious to Gibbs' scrutiny. Malice emanated from her in nearly tangible waves.

The silence began to be quite painful. It pounded at his eardrums like a huge, never-ending blast. He spoke to break that awful stillness. "Are you the third one?"

She didn't respond but beckoned to him slowly with one graceful hand. Without waiting a moment more, she turned and glided along the street back the way that she had come. He had no choice but to follow, for a compelling force seemed to catch at his legs and move them forward.

They continued on for several miles. The time seemed to pass in a numb blur of images. As Gibbs walked along the snow-covered side street, the world narrowed to one point, with only the figure in front of him visible. The black tunnel that surrounded him then began to expand and wither at the same time. Soon he was walking through a route lined with people. Of every color, race, and creed, they all shared the same countenance. A frightening mix of horror, solemnity, and pain was clearly written on each pale face. Twisted hands were bent in supplication, but eyes burned right through him. The figure stopped only once and turned around to look at Gibbs. She lifted one slender hand and pointed accusingly at the throng of people surrounding them, as if somehow their fate was his fault.

Finally, they arrived at an old, abandoned part of town. Rusted railroad tracks wove around crumbling shacks and overgrown gardens. Snow sifted through the broken windows and gaping roof of the largest building, a warehouse, that was directly in front of them. The sharp sounds of gunshots within the warehouse snapped into the dark night. The woman led him relentlessly through a hole in the wall where the door had once been. Gibbs tried to prevent himself from following, but was propelled forward once again by an almost irresistible force.

Gibbs blinked in astonishment as the first sight that he was met with inside the dirty, dark warehouse was his own body lying motionless upon the floor. Had he died? Gibbs stepped forward to confront the body, but quickly retreated out of instinct as he heard loud footsteps coming down the stairs beside them.

_McGee charged into the room, weapon drawn. At the sight of Gibbs upon the floor, he gave a low cry and rushed to it, only relaxing after he had identified a pulse. He sat back on his heels and pulled out a radio._

_"Ziva? Are you there?"_

_Her voice crackled back, "Yes, we're here. Did you find him?"_

_"Yeah, he's got a good-sized lump on his head, but I'll get him outside and he'll be alright. I'll hide him someplace and keep looking for that hostage. What about you and Tony?"_

_"We're fine," she said lightly, "We'll meet you soon," she cut the communication._

_McGee stared at the radio for a moment. He didn't have a gut like Gibbs, but he would bet that something more was wrong. Speaking of Gibbs' gut, what was his boss' problem today? They never should have entered the warehouse without backup. Tony had suggested that they get another team to help, but Gibbs stubbornly had refused Tony's suggestion simply because he did not want to be advised by his own subordinate. McGee shook his head, picking up Gibbs' ankles and dragging him out into the thick grass that grew on the side of the building._

_Ziva, on the other side of the warehouse, busily readied the various weapons about her person. The room that she was in was dimly lit and silent, with the only door tightly shut, locked, and barred with the only furniture in the room. The only other person there was Tony. He sat unwillingly on the floor, both hands tied tightly behind his back and attached firmly to a heavy leg of the radiator in the back corner._

_"Z!" he hissed, "You're being ridiculous! Let me go!"_

_She calmly ignored his question, "There are several gunmen just outside of that door, and I'm not going to set you free just to run into them. Besides, I don't have the key. Whoever decided to chain you up doesn't seem to have left it behind," she finished sarcastically._

_"You can pick the lock!"_

_"Didn't you just hear me? The men outside have the advantage of surprise, and there _is_ no other way out of this room. You'll get yourself killed!"_

_"And you won't?" he demanded angrily._

_"I have a bullet-proof vest on. You chose not to wear one."_

_"Well I didn't exactly expect to run into a trap! Ziva, you can't go alone!"_

_"I will be fine," she brushed his concerns aside, just as the impatient men down the hall began to shoot right through the door. "Time's up; I have to go," she muttered. She slipped carefully over to the bullet-ridden door. She put the tip of her gun through one hole and shot several rounds blindly. At least one hit true, because there was a grunt and then the thud of a heavy body hitting the floor. _

_Ziva whipped herself back to the protection of the wall as several more shots blasted the door and its frame. She edged back and slid away the heavy desk and chair that had served as a barricade and threw herself through the almost-destroyed door and into the hallway. Tony struggled futilely with his bonds, trying to yank the radiator out from the wall._

Gibbs stared in stunned horror as Ziva did not have the time to aim. She simply pointed and shot a half dozen times, dodging and weaving as best she could. He could not believe that he had let his agents into such danger. He would never do that, he decided.

_Ziva sucked in a tight breath as she was hit in the left shoulder by an errant bullet shot in desperation by a dying man. He had been the last; she had killed or mortally wounded the rest. She twisted carefully around with her weapon held high, checking for any last sign of life. Suddenly her SIG was knocked from her grip. A strong arm reached from behind her and pinned her own arms to her side, digging its fingers into the torn bullet wound in her shoulder. She gasped involuntarily and was lucky for doing so, because the other arm snaked across her throat and efficiently cut off her windpipe. __She struggled futilely against her captor but was virtually incapacitated by the lack of oxygen and blinding pain in her shoulder._

_The next thing that she knew, she was laying on the cold concrete floor, sucking in air with ragged breaths. Out of the swirling haze that surrounded her, she saw Tony with a knife and grappling with her attacker, a huge, beefy man, in the center of the room. The other man fell, and Tony, breathing rather harder than usual, hurried over to her. _

_"Ziva!" he hissed._

_"Mmmbbdd," she murmured nonsense to let him know that she was okay, as she didn't quite seem to have control of her voice yet. She blinked again, and slowly her vision stopped spinning. She became aware that Tony was sitting to her left, leaning over her in concern and barely contained fury. His arms were on either side of her, propped up by his palms upon the floor._

_In this moment, Tony didn't care to watch his words; he just started talking. "What possessed you to do that?" his eyes flashed, "Don't you know what it would have done to me if you had died? How I would have felt? I don't want to live without-" Tony cut off as soon as his brain caught up with his heart._

_The silence dragged heavily on. Finally, she found what she needed to say. In a low whisper, she asked softly, "Why do you think that I left you tied up?"_

_He didn't respond to this, but after a long minute he spoke up again, more gently, "You lied. You're not wearing a bullet-proof vest."_

_"I know," she whispered back, wondering why her breathing still wasn't back to normal. _

_He leaned over and began to kiss her. After a moment of stunned astonishment, she kissed him back as long as she could. His arms wrapped protectively around her, lifting her from the cold floor. Only s__everal minutes later did they break apart._

_"Rule 12," she muttered._

_"Screw that," Tony replied, holding her tightly to him and lifting her carefully to her feet before radioing McGee and informing him of their survival._

_As the two quietly left the warehouse, they found McGee and the two hostages that he had rescued waiting anxiously for them. Gibbs also sat there, rubbing his head and trying to see through the throbbing pain that originated in the large lump above his left ear. He watched his two agents exit the building with a calculating look upon his face. They were holding hands and looked much too happy for having just been in a battle for their lives. He wasn't stupid._

_"David! DiNozzo!" he growled, "Rule 12!"_

_They looked at him coolly but did not pull back their entwined hands._

_"You live by your rules, boss, and I'll live by mine," said Tony quietly._

_"DiNozzo!" he snapped, extremely frustrated by the day's events, "It's too dangerous. One or both of you could be killed if you get distracted. I don't want to see either of you again until you've what you have to."_

_Tony and Ziva stopped dead in their tracks, staring at him and hoping, praying that he was joking. Gibbs felt his resolve waver. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad... But they turned around and headed towards her car. The next day they sent McGee back to Gibbs with their weapons, badges and notations of resignation._

Gibbs did not believe what he had just witnessed. "That would never happen," he declared adamantly, "I'd never do that to my team."

The woman just looked at him, or seemed to be looking at him, but all he could see were the thick shadows beneath the edge of her cloak. She simply turned, and they walked on, leaving that section of D.C. and moving on to more populated areas. They passed no one on the streets as they went. The streetlamps seemed dimmer than normal, but it was also possible to see every detail of every sight that he saw. The figure skimmed sedately along at what appeared to be a slow pace, but Gibbs had to run often to catch up.

He thought that it seemed as though they had seen every event of the future and traversed the entire city in one night. He had watched Ducky retire in disgust after Ziva and Tony had left. He had watched Palmer become the M.E., and lose the respect and awe that the younger man had always had for Gibbs. Abby had stayed with him as long as she could, but as he withdrew more and more into himself, she gave up and followed McGee, who had joined the NSA in cyber security. He only spotted Jenny once. She had appeared to meet up with Decker, whom he hadn't seen in years, and then vanish in the Californian desert. He wasn't certain that he quite understood that one.

The black wrought-iron gate of a cemetery came into view. The gates silently opened wide almost reverently for the cloaked figure and then slammed shut so quickly that they nearly clipped Gibbs in the back. The clang of the slamming gates rung into the cool air and caused him to shiver.

The woman turned to look at him. He stared right back at her, though it was difficult to get his eyes to focus on the black shadows that were her face. She turned back around to continue, apparently satisfied with her examination. Throughout all of the places and scenes that she had shown to Gibbs, she had not spoken a word the entire time. However, she had always watched him with an air of amusement and condensation. She floated forward. And, Gibbs, with an uncharacteristic upsurgence of irritation, reached up and quickly yanked the hood down and off the figure's head.

He did not know what possessed him to act on such a rash move, but he did not forget the sight that he saw until his dying day.

It was Jenny. Or it had once been Jenny, but now was terribly altered. With the hood down around her shoulders, her long, blood-red hair flowed down almost to her waist. Her skin was pale and fair, with a strangely-tinged pallor that certainly would never be seen on a living person. Her cheekbones seemed even higher than usual, defined more clearly by deeply sunken cheeks. Her lips were almost black, even darker than her hair, and twisted into a wicked, smug expression. The eyes held the most contrast, however. They had lost the light that had shone in them for as long as Gibbs had know her. Now they burned hollowly, despairing with an unceasing grief.

But she did not stop for long, and so neither did he. Their pace doubled, then tripled. It was only as Gibbs ran past the worn tombstone of a famous general that he realized that this wasn't a typical cemetery; it was Arlington.

Then Jenny stopped abruptly. Gibbs almost plunged right through her. They had paused by a freshly dug grave. Its headstone and smooth layer of soil had been sprinkled with a layer of snow. He looked at it for a moment, and then turned towards Jenny. He waited. And waited. Eventually he started to shiver violently as the snowstorm returned with a vengeance.

"What am I supposed to do?" he demanded.

She didn't acknowledge in any way that he had spoken. Her lips still wore that faint, malicious, mocking smile that had burned itself into his brain. He tore his gaze away, returning to the grave. Whose was it? In the movie, he remembered, it had been the grave of Scrooge. Did that mean that it was his own grave here now? He thought about that for a while, but decided that if it was, he didn't mind. At least death might be peaceful.

He slipped past Jenny, subconsciously staying as far away from her as was possible. He dusted the snow from the headstone.

_Jenny Shepard._

He flinched and stared back at her. Death, a fate which he had just accepted unquestioningly for himself, horrified him in connection with her. He stepped back, farther and farther. There came a point at which he could not move backwards; he had run into an invisible wall.

Jenny slowly moved until she stood in the center of the plot of earth. She looked once more at Gibbs, and then faced forwards. The storm picked up drastically, and the wind began to blow fiercely. Between one harsh gust and the next, she vanished. All that was left was the echo of a tolling bell. Unlike a bell of mortal make, however, the tone from this bell did not cease for several minutes. Even when it had faded, it continued to throb and pulse in Gibbs' head, bringing with it all the condemnation of a doomsday prophecy.

All at once, the storm dropped and the snow piled more thickly around him. The streetlamps brightened. Gibbs had returned to the present.


	6. Chapter 6

_This is where it is going to differ from Dickens' plot. Can anyone imagine Gibbs dancing, cheering, laughing, and generally carrying about quite like Scrooge does? Well, maybe you can, but I don't want to, personally. This should be wrapping up soon enough, though. One to two chapters following this one and an epilogue. Thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed so far!_

* * *

Since the dawn of humanity, there have been those few, special people who have completely reversed their destiny for the better over the course of a single night. They have turned over a new leaf, altering forever the future events of their life and the lives surrounding them. Unfortunately, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not one of those rare people.

After dragging himself home from Arlington, Gibbs had fallen asleep just inside his door, waking the next morning in an extremely undignified position. He was lying on his stomach in the middle of the entry way with his face smushed against the floor. He sat up groggily, rubbing his forehead with his hands. For several moments he tried to figure out what had happened to have him fall asleep in such a random location.

Between one heartbeat and the next, it all came flooding back to him. Shannon. The future, present, and past. Kate. Abby sobbing. Ziva. Snowstorm. Some random, sadistic spirit that had abandoned him in a cemetery. He stiffened as he remembered, but then relaxed just as quickly. A dream, that was all it was. All that it could possibly have been.

He placed a hand on the door and pulled himself into a standing position, stiff back muscles protesting. Of course it was a dream. Things like that didn't just happen, and he was ridiculous to have thought even for a moment that it actually had. He stumbled to the kitchen and brewed himself a stiff pot of coffee.

The days and hours slowly continued to pass. Gibbs did what he always did. From morning to evening, he worked on his boat, sleeping when he felt like it and drinking when he didn't. He steadfastly avoided thinking about his bizarre dream if he concentrated, but then he could not prevent himself from dwelling on another topic.

Jenny. She relentlessly trod through his thoughts all day long, no matter how hard he tried to banish her presence. If he was sulking about their fight that last day before vacation, his thoughts drifted to past fights. They had never really been able to hold grudges back then. If he was trying to focus solely on the unyielding form of the wood in front of him, he was reminded of other times. Jenny stealing that boat in Paris, watching him from the corner as he silently worked on his own attempt, or--. He cut himself off as he remembered for the first time in years the way her eyes danced the day that he had spent a fortune on wood that had turned out to be warped. She had laughed so hard that she started hiccoughing, and then he had not been able to resist joining in. But they had been so much younger then. This was ridiculous. Why couldn't he keep her away? He redoubled his efforts at sanding.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Gibbs, he wasn't alone in the basement. A still figure stood silently in the corner, watching Gibbs' futile attempts at controlling his thoughts. With an absent-minded flick of its fingers, the wraith scattered Gibbs' thoughts once again and replaced them with another memory of Jenny Shepard. A second figure popped into the dark basement.

"Careful. Gibbs is going to kill you," Kate warned.

The first figure glared at the newcomer.

"I suppose you're right," Kate conceded, "We're not exactly alive in the first place, are we? But you know Gibbs. He'll find someway to reverse the laws of time and physics to get revenge."

The other figure gave Kate another look, to which Kate responded with a laugh.

"He won't bother to change the rules before he breaks them? Is that what you just said, Jenny? Said... thought... looked..." Kate trailed off.

Jenny smiled dangerously.

"I'm finally getting the hang of having a conversation with you. It's kind of interesting," Kate mused with a half-smile on her face. A moment later she became more serious, "But do you think it will do any good?" she asked softly.

Jenny just watched her before flicking her fingers again at Gibbs and changing his thoughts.

"Both," Kate responded to Jenny's implied question, "What we all did and what you're doing now."

"I suppose you're right," she answered again several minutes later, "And maybe reminding him constantly about you --her-- will help. But I don't know. He's really stubborn."

"Maybe," Kate replied once last time. "Good luck," she wished before she vanished again.

Jenny returned to disrupting Gibbs' thoughts. She was rewarded by seeing him shake his head several times and make an extremely annoyed expression.

A new figure appeared in the quiet room. Shannon, red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, stood watching Gibbs with a countenance that bordered on despair.

"Do something!" she demanded, "Come on, Jethro!"

Gibbs continued his work, oblivious to her appearance.

"What more do you want me to try? You're going to be so unhappy. Oh, please," she murmured, stroking his cheek. But then, as if feeling someone's gaze upon her, Shannon whirled around. "Jenny!"

Jenny just stared.

"I, um, didn't know that you were here." Her cheeks flushed slightly as she took a step back. She had never really felt comfortable around this spirit, though she didn't mind the director herself in real life. "I'll just, um, be going now," she trailed off and spun away.

* * *

It was 8:00 in the evening on Christmas Eve, and Gibbs was fed up. The past few days had been absolutely horrible. He was sick of torturing himself about his terrible dream and dwelling on Jenny. It was, he mused, as if some outside influence kept reminding him of her.

He paused for a moment as a crazy idea came to him. Should he...? Without giving himself time to think on it further, Gibbs jogged up the stairs, grabbed his coat and keys, and stepped out into the freezing night air. He slipped into his car and backed down the driveway, a layer of frost crunching beneath the tires. The fresh snowfall of a few days' past had hardened into a dingy, icy landscape that lined the streets as he drove quietly along, stopping only when he reached the house of the director of NCIS.

Gibbs parked across the street, staring up at the coldly forbidding house. What was he doing here? His earlier idea, which had seemed perfectly sane at the time, didn't seem to be so good now. Go and talk to Jen. That had been the sum and total of his plan. Say what? He could just go in there and see her. That had always worked before, and something would eventually come to him.

He stepped out of the car and slammed the door before carefully crossing the dark street. He made his way up to the door and paused with his hand outstretched to knock, pulling it back slightly. Should he be here? What would he gain from this? Could it do any good, or would it just ruin their already damaged relationship beyond repair? He stood uncertainly on the front steps.

* * *

Jenny leaned back in her chair as she began to chuckle quietly. A crackling fire warmed her face as she read the Christmas letter from her cousin. She shook her head, remember with amusement the antics that her cousin's daughter had gotten into the last time that she'd seen her. It had something to do with a can of that spray cheese, a pair of dull scissors, and a rather expensive set of curtains, if she remembered correctly.

She felt lighter as all of her earlier worries melted away. What had she even been worried about anyways? The smile slid off her face as she did indeed remember her earlier preoccupation: one Special Agent Gibbs. She was going to get it from her boss for not suspending Gibbs at the very least. But he didn't deserve it; he had only been trying to protect the sergeant. If only he had gone about it a different way... But it hadn't always been like that. A ghost of a smile returned to her lips as she recalled a different time, a different situation, with rather the same outcome.

_A light rain had begun to fall. The trees glistened with it as their branches retained the water, loosing it slowly through large drops that trickled from the tips. The grey clouds hung low in the sky, marred slightly by the faint outline of a city in the distance. The silence and tranquility was broken only by a woman's angry shriek._

_"How could you do that?!" Jenny Shepard stood in front of her boss, hands on her hips and fire flashing in her eyes, "She didn't have to die!"_

_He looked askance at her, "Would you rather have had me continue to try to talk to her?" he asked mildly._

_"Yes!"_

_"So that she could lose her patience and kill the hostage?"_

_"You don't know that she would have!"_

_"I know people like her," his voice never rose a single decibel._

_Jenny had proceeded to use the next several minutes to tell Gibbs precisely what she thought of him, his probable ancestors, his habits, his opinions, and exactly where he could put each of them. To her extreme embarrassment, she had discovered only later that a higher-ranking agent had been standing behind her the whole time._

_"Do you always let her talk like that?" the other had inquired smoothly._

_"No," Gibbs replied curtly._

_Later, when the other man had left and Jenny had returned to say that she was sorry, she had learned another of Gibbs' many rules: Never apologize; it's a sign of weakness. But the slightly awkward smile that he offered had told her something more important. It was on that random day near some little city in the middle of nowhere that Jenny Shepard had first realized that she was in love with her boss._

Jenny came out of her thoughts rather abruptly. She sighed as she realized how much time she spent in the past, at least related to this man. It was all that they had anymore, just memories and flashes of another time. She actually missed his company, at least, she admitted, most of the time. But maybe she could go and fix that? She would never apologize to him, of course, but she could just go and talk to him. Or not even talk, just sit for a while. He would probably be alone; he was always alone lately. She frowned slightly, considering this.

She stood up slowly, still debating the wisdom of this new idea. Before she could talk herself out of it, Jenny quickly put a screen on the fire and hurried down the steps. She hunted briefly for the car keys and then snatched up her coat, roughly pulling it over her shoulders and stepping in front of the door.

She extended her hand to turn the door knob, but stopped before her hand actually made contact with it. What if he wasn't ready to make up? If her hopeful visit turned into another bitter argument, their hesitant sometimes-friendship could be broken forever. Would she risk it all for a possibly vain hope that things could get better? It wasn't, she assured herself, as though she needed his approval or anything else from him. But her hand stayed where it was, unmoving and hesitant.

To an outsider, the scene might have appeared quite amusing. Two ex-lovers, still in love, separated only by a thin sheet of wood, their hands poised only inches from each other for the span of nearly a minute.

If it had not been for the cold, Gibbs might have entered. A particularly bitter gust of wind rushed past, causing the normally stoic Gibbs to shiver. He dropped his hand and backed up several steps. Then he turned and left, entering his now frigid car and literally speeding down the deserted street. Jenny also pulled back her arm a moment later. She wearily pulled off her coat and tossed down her keys, returning up the stairs and going to bed.


	7. Chapter 7

_I know that last chapter was kind of a teaser, but it was quite fun to write. Only the epilogue left after this! And I do apologize if I get some facts of Judgement Day wrong. It's been... a very long time since I last saw it. Thanks so much to reviewers!_

The snow continued to fall and the days passed slowly by. Christmas came and went with Gibbs still sequestered in his basement. It was dark and silent, and he preferred it that way. The endless visions of Jenny soon faded from his mind, as much to his relief as to the relief of any person who does not wish to dwell on their regrets. The new year came too, and finally holiday break was over and work began again.

At last everything was normal. Tony and Ziva didn't hold hands, McGee didn't work for the NSA, and Jenny wasn't staring eerily at anyone who passed by her. Abby... wasn't crying anymore. Though, Gibbs had to admit, she had given him quite a turn when he returned to headquarters two days after New Year's. He hadn't known what she was saying at first, though his blood ran cold when she had started going off on a long-winded tangent about why he should have visited her on the last day before vacation so that she could have invited him to her party. It sounded strangely like what she had sobbed to the rest of his team in the dream. He shook his head in irritation, earning him the stares of the other agents in MTAC; he didn't want to admit how much that bizarre dream had affected him.

He left MTAC a half hour later and walked back down the hall to the steps. At the top of them, he hesitated for a brief moment before turning his head and subtly glancing at the door to the director's office. It had been closed for most of the past day and a half. He turned and started down the stairs, only to be called back a moment later.

"Agent Gibbs!" a harassed-looking Cynthia appeared, "the director needs to speak with you. Now," she threw him a pleading look and he complied, following her back.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, thought Gibbs to himself as he mentally prepared to "have a polite discussion" with Jenny. He flung open the door of her office and strolled in. The redhead, staring out the window, didn't bother to turn around for several seconds. When she did, he jumped in with his rebuttal.

"I won't apologize for the other week."

She looked at him for a moment.

"Or is this about that FBI agent? He--"

"Enough" she cut him off wearily, "I didn't drag you in here to yell at you, Jethro. I don't even want to know what you said to the FBI. I'm leaving," she brought the conversation back around to the main reason that she had asked for him.

He stared at her in stunned disbelief.

"To L.A." she clarified, "Decker's dead. I don't know how close you two were anymore; I just thought that you might want to know."

Decker. The future spirit's warning images exploded once again in Gibbs' mind. This was too dangerous...

"Also," Jenny continued, "I want to take Ziva and Tony with me for security. I know you have a case right now, so get as far as you can today and then send them along."

She waited as he struggled with his thoughts. Though he showed little outward expression, he was arguing fiercely with himself. He shouldn't allow her to go, because something bad, very, very, very bad, would certainly happen. He opened his mouth to warn her but then stopped. She had made it very clear that she would make her own decisions with little input from him.

"Fine," he said flatly before she nodded and dismissed him, turning back to her silent comtemplation of the window.

* * *

Several hours later, Gibbs, Ziva, and Tony were clustered around McGee seated in his desk. The agent was trying to ignore their piercing stares as he attempted to piece together the jumbled mass of short-wave radio signals that they had intercepted from a local gang that had turned terrorist aid. He had been working for a full hour now and was about to see if his hard work had paid off. He ran his logorithm through the signals.

Nothing.

McGee slumped back in his chair, "I can't get it. I mean, I could, but it's going to take longer than this, and seeing as they might get away with their hostages and that Tony and Ziva have to leave..." he trailed off.

Gibbs straightened up. "Ziva, you take McGee and follow. Tony, you're with me."

Tony followed Gibbs to his desk and began to speak to him in an undertone, "Boss, do you think this is right?"

Gibbs shot him a fierce glare that would have shut him up any other day, but Tony pressed on.

"They took out a half-dozen or more of our guys. Yeah, I guess they had the element of surprise, but those were active-duty marines! And-"

"And what, DiNozzo?" Gibbs cut him off, "Spit it out."

"I think we should take back up," Tony admitted in a rush.

"There is not much of an option. We're stretched a little thin today," Gibbs said with exasperated patience.

"Then maybe we shouldn't go."

Gibbs stared at him, "Would you like to stay behind?" he demanded. "No? I didn't think so! Dang right! They got seven of our guys; they're not getting any more!" He was thoroughly angry by now. Tony wasn't like this. Tony shouldn't be like this. This didn't make any sense, and when Gibbs was confused, he got mad.

Tony shut up immediately and they arrived without further ado at the site of the supposed terrorist base. Gibbs, still fuming from earlier, didn't really bother to take in his surroundings until he got out of the car. He carefully surveyed the run-down, abandoned area that they were in. It seemed all too familiar, somehow. Yet Gibbs knew that this random little section on the outskirts of town was new to him.

His team followed him closely, weapons drawn as they wove around a broken building. Gibbs tensed suddenly as they rounded the far corner. Never quite one to believe in premonitions, he nevertheless trusted his gut as he stared stonily at the warehouse before him. It was the building from his nightmare. Yes, there were slight differences: it wasn't yet dark, there were no gunshots, and he was perfectly conscious.

It was nothing, he assured himself, but he couldn't shake that rare, anxious feeling. He nodded to his team and they prepared to enter. Weaving around bushes and pressing themselves against walls, they inched their way into the building. Tony and Ziva split off while Gibbs and McGee stayed on the main floor.

Gibbs resolved to be extremely careful. It couldn't hurt, at least, and better safe than sorry. Not that he typically went with that philosophy, though. A tiny noise scratched in the back corner. He motioned for McGee to go around the back while he watched the door. Nothing would happen to his team, absolutely nothing.

* * *

Something was poking Gibbs' nose. He inched his eyelids open and discovered a long piece of grass, dead and edged with frost. His head throbbed angrily, pain radiating from just above his left ear. What the...? A moment later he rocketed to his feet. He sprinted back around the corner, tripping over unseen obstacles in the gathering dusk.

"McGee!" he yelled. When there was no response, he yelled louder, "MCGEE!"

"Boss?" a faint voice returned.

Suddenly the sweeping beam of a flashlight shone in his face. He lifted his hands up to block his eyes from the bright light, spotting two young woman standing just behind McGee.

"What happened?" Gibbs demanded.

"The hostages. They're okay, I think. You were unconscious so I dragged you away. Tony and Ziva are inside somewhere. They said they'll meet us soon."

"When?"

"Um... they called about five minutes ago."

"The warehouse isn't that big! It shouldn't take long to get here!" Gibbs exploded, with a very real and present worry that something terrible had happened, already moving towards the door.

The radio crackled just then, and Gibbs listened coldly as Ziva made her excuses and promised that they were truly fine. They exited, side by side with their fingertips cautiously entwined. When they saw the light and Gibbs, Ziva tried to move her hand away for a moment, but Tony grasped it tighter. She stopped trying to seperate and curled her hand back around his, turning to face Gibbs, who was by now staring in disbelief.

How could they not understand what they were doing? First, they could easily be injured or hurt trying to protect the other. Second, when the break-up came, as it inevitably would, his team would be ruined. Thirdly, after said break-up of relationship and team, they would quite possibly be thrust into a position in which they might see each other every day. Also, if they were truly happy together, they would regret every moment apart. He knew every one of the possible consequences, all too personally.

"David! DiNozzo!" he growled, "Rule 12!"

"You live by your rules, boss, and I'll live by mine," replied Tony quietly.

Gibbs actually flinched as he heard Tony, not for the first time but for the second time. He opened his mouth to respond but bit back the words at the last moment. After searching for what he wanted to say for several minutes, he gave up. "Just go to Jenny," he muttered, returning to his car. He could feel their gaping mouths and astonished eyes as he left.

* * *

Gibbs didn't bother to go home that evening. He stayed at headquarters through the night, working steadily so that his mind would not wander. But every so often, his gaze would flicker towards the door of the director's office. She had left yesterday evening with Ziva and Tony. The new lovebirds, he though sullenly. Jenny would probably eat it up. Women and romance stories.

But now that he had actually reminded himself of Jenny, whom his remaining at work had been intended to avoid thinking of, he was unable to rid himself of her. He struggled on until about 7 o'clock before simply giving up entirely.

He ran through several different scenarios in his mind. In one, absolutely nothing would happen. She would return, Decker would be buried, no California desert, and happily-ever-after. Or whatever strange sentiment Walt Disney had overused. This was probably more likely. After all, the spirit had shown him a slightly different version of earlier today. Gibbs had been right to search out the terrorist group, and it hadn't ended all that badly. However, in another, she would "vanish" like in his nightmare come true. He frowned, concentrating. What exactly had happened again in that vision? It all seemed a bit fuzzy. She left... with Tony and Ziva, he remembered that now... something about Decker... drove to the desert. But she had been alone, that time she drove. Tony and Ziva hadn't been there. Why? Later... the crack of a bullet... and--

* * *

Jenny carefully drove along the winding strip of dusty roadway. Low, dusky plants seemed to be the only vegetation that grew on the plains around her. Mike Franks, beside her in the passanger seat, was still griping about her refusal to allow him to drive. She let the murmur of his complaining wash over her, not really paying attention as the miles flew past. Soon, the faint smudge of a building loomed ahead. As the car pulled up beside it, it became obvious that it was only an abandoned diner, sagging and worn. A faint, humorless smile appeared on her face.

They broke the lock on the front door, and Jenny and Franks slipped inside. Dust motes, energized by the arrival of fresh air into the room, stirred up and danced around. It was utterly silent except for the soft tapping of their shoes as they trod on the old linoleum.

* * *

Tony closed his eyes and leaned back against the warm leather of his seat. A very light sea breeze whispered against his face as the bright L.A. sun shone down on the red convertible parked beside the beach. He was perfectly at peace for a moment, until he felt someone's gaze upon him.

"What?" he muttered, slowly opening his eyes.

Ziva was grinning broadly, "You look so innocent with your eyes closed," she teased.

"Well, that's more than I can say for you," he returned with mock seriousness.

Interestingly enough, their new-found relationship had altered very little of their daily conversation. Talk was still usually light and teasing, and neither had any desire to change.

"Wonder how Jenny's getting along," Tony grinned conspiratorially.

However, at this statement, Ziva's expression tightened. "I do not feel very good about this," she admitted, "Something feels off."

Tony was ready with a sarcastic comment, but stopped himself as he realized that he wanted Ziva to know that he took her seriously. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She shot him a wary glance to see if he was joking. His relatively serious expression reassured her, and she continued, "She is just... not acting normal. It is like--"

Ziva was cut off by the ringing of Tony's cellphone. He felt a twist of worry as he answered it, but convinced himself that his apprehension was caused solely by their previous conversation.

"Hello?"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs curt voice dug into Tony's ear, "Where's the director? Give her the phone."

Tony hesitated, "Uhh, she's not here."

An ominous silence answered him.

"She, uh, gave us the afternoon off."

"WHAT?"

Tony cringed. He had never heard his boss cram so much inflection into one word. The normally unflappable Gibbs sounded quite panicked.

"Find her, now! And then don't leave her side until I get there!"

The connection cut. Tony raised his gaze to meet the dark, worried eyes of his partner.

* * *

Jenny actually laughed as she stood in the corner, listening to Franks talk about the long-ago days in which one Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a probational officer. Definitely one of the more amusing topics that she had heard in the past few weeks. As he continued, she smiled to herself. He and Gibbs were so alike: both obnoxious chauvinists and chivalrous knights-in-shining-armor at the same time. At the thought of Gibbs, her spirits lowered slightly, but she reasurred herself that she was here for him. He would be safe.

Franks casually turned the topic around to Jenny herself, mentioning Gibbs and several others that she had known from Europe. Jethro had obviously discussed quite bit with his old mentor during his "Margarita Safari." But Franks was clearly fishing. Oh well. With very little prompting, she admitted that she still loved Gibbs. It wasn't anything new; she was sure that Jethro himself knew. Maybe Franks would tell Jethro, if she couldn't.

She looked calmly down the road. There was no one in sight, and it was all very peaceful. She felt oddly content, and yawned as if to prove it. Franks briefly excused himself and went to the back to collect water. Jenny nodded once and leaned her head against the windowpane.

Because of this, she was in a perfect position to see the dark SUV that appeared in the distance. She almost called out to Franks, but caught herself. He didn't need to die. The car grew bigger as time seemed to still. She carefully checked her weapon, making sure that it was loaded and ready to fire. She braced herself against the table, hidden slightly by the wall, and faced the door.

The fleeting seconds stretched into an eternity until the door was flung open. Jenny waited only for the partial second that was required to identify her target before she began shooting blindly at the men that rushed through the door. Bullets richocheted around, punching through furniture and blasting loudly in her direction. The time passed in an adrenaline-fueled haze, and then all sound ceased.

Jenny realized in a confusing blur that there were four figures on the floor. Only three of them were at such an angle with the door and her position that she would have been able to shoot them. She herself didn't seem to be injured. Franks raced through the back door, weapon drawn.

And then a figure stepped through the front door. Though she had stood tall and unafraid in the midst of a deadly shoot-out, the sight of the man standing in the doorway caused her to take a step back.

"What were you thinking?" Gibbs demanded hoarsely.

Jenny had no response; she just stared at him.

Franks looked from one to the other and decided that he didn't want to be anywhere near here. "I'll just be leaving now," he muttered, backing away. Neither of the other two took any notice of him.

"Jenny!?" he snapped.

"I didn't kill Svetlana," she admitted suddenly. She didn't know why this was the first thing that she blurted out, but could come up with nothing else.

Now it was his turn to stare in astonishment.

"I just couldn't do it. But she sent these," Jenny motioned vaguely at the corpses on the floor, "to kill you. Me first, probably, but then you too," she was babbling on now, speaking much too quickly.

"Why?" he asked.

She blinked, "You killed her boyfriend, remember?"

"No. Why are _you_ here?"

After a moment of hesitation, she continued slowly, "It's my fault, that she's still alive. I didn't want to risk any more lives."

"No. That's not true."

Jenny felt the relief of the past minute turn to irritation. "Then what--"

He cut her off. "You have an entire agency and expensive weapons at your express command. Any of them could have helped. No, you were too proud. You would have rather died than admit that you made a mistake. Too proud to ask for help. Too proud to admit to anything that anyone might possibly consider a weakness," he drawled slowly.

She couldn't really deny that. But she could change the subject. "And you're not?" she asked sweetly.

But to her surprise, he did not get angry.

Gibbs actually smiled. Then he stepped forward so that he stood only inches away from her. "Nobody's perfect," he whispered. He lifted his hand and pushed her own hand away, and only then did she realize that she still held her weapon. She slid it into the holster on her right hip and looked back up. But now he was so much closer. And before she could move or say a thing, he took that last step forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer to him.

Jenny was stunned. Gibbs wasn't really the hugging-type. But she buried her face in his shoulder, holding him tightly as his heart pounded heavily in his chest from the strain and tension of the past ten minutes. She never wanted to let go.


	8. Chapter 8

_Epilogue: One Month Later_

Special Agent Gibbs strolled quietly down the dimly lit halls of NCIS headquarters one late evening. A large, white-paper bag clenched in his left hand gave off the crisp, unmistakable scent of Chinese takeout. He leisurely climbed the stairs, noting as he did that Cynthia must have already left for the evening. Jenny's door was slightly ajar.

She looked up briefly as he entered. Then she flashed him a strained smile and glanced enviously at the bag that he held before bringing her concentration back to the papers on the desk in front of her.

"No. No no," she said firmly into the phone held closely to her right ear, "That won't--"

Gibbs threw her a pitying glance, that she thankfully did not see, and then sat down on the couch. He dropped the paper bag on the floor, relaxed back into the cushions, and prepared to wait for a very long time.

Jenny propped one elbow up in front of her and dropped her forehead onto her palm. "I cannot allow--" her calm voice gave away nothing of the irritation that Gibbs could clearly see as she was cut off once again. She absentmindedly twirled a strand of her deep red hair around one finger, pulling on it tightly.

He simply watched her silently. Hopefully she would finish this conference soon enough, but if not he was prepared to wait. Forever, if necessary. The events of a month ago were still too vivid for him to be able to ignore or brush aside. Had four spirits really visited him? He still didn't know. But he did know that he got lucky. She was here, and he was here, and even if they weren't "together" it was still good.

He frowned slightly as he considered their relationship. He wasn't sure exactly what it was. Were they just friends, or something more? He felt fairly certain that "just friends" didn't insert a GPS tracker into the other's watch the day after the Christmas holidays ended, cross the width of the United States on a faint suspicion of danger, track the other with highly classified surveillance tactics involving bribing an extremely intelligent forensic scientist over the phone, stalk a dark SUV that might or might not hold several hitmen, jump into the midst of a violent shootout, and then, after saving the other's life, decide to hug said "friend" as if their life depended on it before kissing them for several minutes until the arrival of an unsuspecting and frantic Mossad officer and NCIS agent bursting through the doorway made the "just friends" jump backwards so quickly that one of them tripped backwards over a corpse. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

"Absolutely not!" Jenny snapped, still on the phone to the unknown politician, "The risks outweigh any possible--" But being cut off mid-sentence for several hours was too much for the Director of NCIS. "I will never agree to that," she finished calmly before setting the phone gently down on its base and dropping her head into her hands.

Gibbs didn't say a word, knowing that in her place there simply wouldn't be anything that he could say. Several moments later she lifted her head back up and looked at him, catching the trace of a smile that flitted across his face.

"I'll pay for that tomorrow, and I am not looking forward to it," she muttered, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said.

He remembered the comment he had made about politicians, Kate's rebuttal, and what she had shown him. They'd both been right. Jenny had changed, but it wasn't all bad. And, if NCIS had to have and work with politicians, there was no one he'd rather have backing him up than Jen Shepard.

She stood up, stretched, and crossed the room, falling into the couch beside him. Kicking off her high heels, she opened the white bag.

"How much do you think I eat?" she murmured as she set out several courses upon the table.

"Most of it's mine," he replied smoothly.

"Yeah, right."

And then suddenly it was back again. The slightly awkward feeling that crept its way into their conversation when they were alone. Gibbs, never an eloquent speaker, couldn't think of anything that seemed right to say. Jenny could think of a dozen sentences, but none of them included what she wanted to say.

"So, what about Tony and Ziva?" she finally settled on asking.

Gibbs gave a little snort, "What about them?"

Jenny rolled her eyes and motioned with her left hand as her mouth was full of chicken.

"Told them I didn't want to see anything, and to keep it out of the office."

"Plausible deniability," Jenny murmured after she'd finished her mouthful.

"Yeah, and that it's just plain nauseating," Gibbs countered.

"Yes, of course."

Silence reigned again. Jenny thoughtfully licked her fork clean.

"They're smart. They can keep it underneath the radar, so to speak," she said.

"Yeah," he returned finally, "Wonder how it will work out."

"Because they're so different?" she asked.

He nodded.

"But somehow they're right for each other," she mused, "I've never met two agents who could work so well together. They know what the other's always thinking. There's no other way that they could know exactly how to best irritate each other without that."

He nodded.

"And they care a lot about each other. They'll take care of themselves."

He nodded.

There was another long pause.

"Yes, it will be fine," Jenny continued a little too quickly, "I don't know why I'm so worried."

He nodded again.

"Will you knock that off?" she snapped in mock annoyance, finally succeeding in breaking the tension.

Gibbs nodded one more time, before smirking and returning to his food. With a fork-full of rice halfway to his mouth, he paused as his gaze brushed the far wall. Then his peaceful expression hardened.

Across the room, the wraith-like not-Jenny stood watching them. Her expression was as malevolent as ever.

Jenny followed his gaze, but could see nothing. "What is it?"

Gibbs felt a shiver of something that was disturbingly close to fear. He watched the spirit carefully as he subconsciously grabbed the hand of the woman beside him and held on tightly, curling his fingers around the back of her hand.

The not-Jenny smirked then. However, this smile was different than the others. It started off quite the same, but instead of remaining piercing and cruel, it slowly morphed into something else. Imperceptibly, the eyes and lips lightened, the cheeks filled out, and the expression softened. Soon, there was nothing to differentiate the not-Jenny from the one beside him.

She smiled again, but this time it was not forced. Then she dissolved into a brilliant sparkling light that he could not look at, and that was gone nearly as soon as it had come. Even Jenny could see it.

"Fire?" she demanded, rising to her feet.

Gibbs pulled her back down to the couch, "Nope." He seemed to realize that he still held her hand and made himself let go.

She studied the wall carefully, checking for any remaining sight of flame before turning her face back towards him, head cocked slightly to one side. "Okay," she said finally, knowing from long experience that trying to get him to say anything more would be like pulling teeth. "So you're not going to get on them about your Rule 12?"

"No. They'd call me hypocritical."

The words didn't sink in for several moments, but when they did Jenny's heart nearly stopped. "Hypocritical?" she asked calmly, pressing for more detail.

"Yup," he replied casually, serving himself more rice and chicken.

"Because of McGee and Abby a couple years back?"

He shrugged.

"Or... because of us, all that time ago?" she prodded him.

He glanced up in amusement. "Are you fishing, Jen?"

"Mmm," she muttered noncommittally, embarrassed.

Gibbs stared at her until she forced her gaze back up to his face. "Why bother fishing," he asked, "if you've already caught the fish?"

Already caught...? She froze. Did this mean what she thought it might? There was a chance... She slowly raised her eyes to his. Green eyes met blue ones as she stared at him for seconds that dragged to nearly a minute. She caught her breath as she realized that his words had truly held the meaning that she had inferred.

He stood up and stretched briefly, "I have to go. Promised Abby that I'd visit her to make up for missing the Christmas party. You plan to work late tomorrow again?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

"See you then," he responded, before slipping on his coat and heading out the door.

Jenny sat quite still for a moment as the door swung shut. Then she jumped up and eased the door open, stepping silently to the catwalk railing. Though she'd made no sound and Gibbs was already to the elevator, he knew that she was there.

He did not turn around, but calmly pressed the down arrow on the panel. She watched him, never for one moment taking her eyes off his retreating figure until the doors slid closed. As the elevator began its descent, a slow, wide smile appeared on Gibbs' face. High above, at the edge of the catwalk, another just as sincere smile broke out upon the face of Jenny Shepard. She put her hands up to her cheeks, as if feeling the strangeness of something so foreign and unusual as a genuine smile, before slowly turning and reentering her office. Tomorrow might actually be a good day.

* * *

_And cut to the cheesy ending. I'm finally done! My first halfway-decent multi-chapter story. Thanks so very much to everyone who has read this, and particularly those who have reviewed. If anyone has any idea for a general improvement in my writing, I would greatly appreciate it. There's no way that criticism (even if it is only a tiny bit constructive) will ever bother me. _

_K_


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